


Reckless

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Claiming, Episode: s03e07 Fresh Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam POV, after the penultimate scene in 3x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless

There's a humming under his skin, itching and buzzing like his blood's on fire. Sam resents the clichéd phrasing even as he thinks it, but there's no other way to describe what he's feeling. He's riding the dark high of taking a life, feeling Gordon's neck slowly collapse under the pressure of the wire in his hands, the rush so huge he doesn't feel the wounds in his own palms from the barbs. He stares blindly at Gordon's body for a long moment, trying to process what he's done, trying to rationalise the burn of triumph in his gut into something civilised, something _sane_.

He's nearly got a grip on it when he looks up and sees Dean staggering upright against the wall.

Dean has a smartass comment--he _always_ has a smartass comment--but Sam barely hears him, can't focus on anything but the blood dripping down Dean's neck and the pulse of his heart under Sam's hand. They weave out to the car, holding each other up, every point of contact a reminder that Dean is _here_ , he's _alive_ , and Sam--Sam just killed to protect him. He'd seen Gordon at Dean's throat, seen the blood spurting and Dean's head falling back in surrender, and ... that was it. Like flipping a switch. He doesn't remember details, except for the very end; he just remembers _no_ , and wanting to rip Gordon apart.

So he did.

Sam sits very still in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead as Dean drives them back to the motel. It's not far, thank God, and the roads are quiet; this is good, because Sam needs to be behind a locked door right now. He stacks his bloody hands in his lap and very carefully does not press down.

Dean looks over at him once or twice. Sam presses his lips together and closes his eyes, but that just makes the humming worse. His leg jiggles, and he forces it to stop. Schools himself to stillness, until.

"Home sweet home," Dean says, and cuts the engine. He's out of the car before Sam can move, heading for the room.

Sam follows, letting himself _flow_ out of the car now, cutting loose of the control he's been keeping for the past fifteen minutes. He moves up behind Dean and gives him a rough shove between the shoulder blades as the door clicks open.

"Sam, what the--" is all Dean gets out before Sam is through the door and kicking it shut, turning the locks one-handed and grabbing Dean's neck with the other, pulling him in hard.

"Shut. Up," Sam bites off, walking them forward until Dean's back hits the wall. "Just shut up and--and--"

He shuts up himself then, because words aren't enough for this. Keeps one hand around Dean's neck and the other pinning him to the wall, heartbeat going _ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk_ , and thinks, this is mine now. I paid for him. He's _mine_. He slides his face along Dean's jaw, scenting the blood, following the trail. Gordon's bite marks stand out, red-centred white, more red smeared all around and spilling down Dean's neck. The punctures are still oozing slightly, not enough to worry.

Sam fits his mouth around them and sucks.

Dean _moans_ , and his entire body melts into Sam's hold. The barest trickle of blood slides into Sam's mouth, copper-salt-tang exploding on his tongue, firing up his senses. He pulls away and licks at the marks, cleaning, claiming, rocking his hips against Dean's. Grins and bites hard, open-mouthed at Dean's shoulder when he feels Dean's hands scrabbling at his back, ripping at shirts to get to skin and nails digging in _hard_.

"Careful, Dean," he breathes, moving up to face him. "This bitch bites."

Dean's laugh is lost between them as Sam thrusts a leg between his thighs and presses up, tongue flicking out to tease at Dean's mouth. Sam growls a curse when Dean opens his mouth without prompting, curls his tongue around Sam's in the open air and draws him in with the kind of tortured whimper Sam's only ever dreamed of hearing. They clash mouth to mouth, teeth clicking and tongues catching until Sam bites again, Dean's bottom lip plush and soft between his teeth, tugging on it just to hear Dean make that noise again. He slides a hand southward and presses heavy into Dean's crotch, hard length of cock against his palm, and seriously, that's _enough_ fucking foreplay already.

He grips Dean at shoulder and hip and swings him around, manhandles him over to the bed a bare three steps away. Dean stumbles back, mouth seeking Sam's again, doesn't make a sound when Sam kicks his feet out from under him and he falls back on the mattress. Sam knees his way onto the bed and across Dean's thighs, hands working at Dean's belt buckle as Dean finally gets with the program and starts stripping out of his shirts. Sam looks up when he gets the belt off, catches a fiery-hot look in Dean's eyes and the marks on his neck, and he wants to kill Gordon _all over again_.

The leather winds soft and supple in his hands. Dean watches as he snaps it taut, licks his lips when Sam knee-walks up his body, trailing the buckle over pale skin.

"Hands," Sam says, and Dean grins and raises his arms.

The knot won't hold for long. The belt's too thick to bind properly, but that's not the point. Sam brings both hands back down Dean's body when he's done, nails sharp and dragging, leaving thin red lines all the way from collarbones to hips. Dean arches under the touch and whimpers again when Sam starts working his button fly open, panting into the silence. Cloth rustles as Sam strips Dean naked and follows suit, tossing clothes every which way, leaving the bed for a bare instant to find the hand lotion he keeps in his duffel.

"Real men moisturise, Sammy?" Dean cracks when he comes back. Sam puts his face in the groove between hip and pelvis and slides his way up, skin on skin all the way, and by the time he gets there Dean's throwing his head back and gripping the bed rail between his wrists, and he all but _bites_ Sam's tongue when they kiss. It's harsh and slick and _raw_ , Dean almost vibrating under his hands, cock burning a brand into his thigh. Sam pushes down against it, teasing; Dean does bite him then, sharp nip of teeth to his jaw and pulls away to glare at him.

"Quit fucking around," he rasps, and Sam thinks, yeah, okay.

He presses a kiss to the puncture wounds-- _his_ now, no-one else's--and sits up, fresh scent of lemongrass cutting through the air as the cool liquid coats his fingers. He's done this part before, at least: easy press in, stretch, but he doesn't have the patience now. He feels wide open already, one-two thrusts and he's good to go and sinking down on Dean's cock just like that.

Just ... like ... that.

"Oh, God," Sam grits out between clenched teeth, digs his nails into Dean's chest and immediately begins to rock. It burns the hum right out of him, the hard press of cock inside rubbing over and over and _over_ until he can't remember his name. Dean chokes out a wordless noise high in his throat and spreads his knees behind Sam's back, letting him lean and twist and grind like he wants to, slamming down hard and fast to send the burn through every nerve he has. He catches Dean's gaze and holds it, grinning fierce and feral, a matching look on Dean's face with teeth showing and eyes bright as they fuck themselves toward oblivion.

Sam slows down, breaking the rhythm, and pulls off Dean completely, turning around to straddle him with his back to Dean's face. He hears the guttural groan as he sinks back down, imagines what Dean's seeing, and that plus the pressure of this new angle sends him completely fucking wild. He's gripping Dean's knees and spreading his own as wide as he can, pushing into Dean's thrusts and seeking more of that rub-glide-scrape with every thrust. His cock rides the space between Dean's thighs, slapping wetly against soft flesh, and it's all so fucking _perfect_ he could die happy, right here. Then he hears a grunt and feels the bed jolt, and Dean's newly-freed hand trails down his back, fingering where they're joined. That's it, lights out, game over; Sam arches back and lets out a growl, pulsing against Dean's thigh, falling back against Dean's shoulder when he's done. Dean rolls them over to the side without pause, lifts Sam's leg to get his own between and keeps on fucking, biting randomly at Sam's neck and shoulders, every thrust and sting shivering through Sam's body until he thinks he's going to come again. Dean's good at this--Sam _knew_ he'd be good, had to be, has seen too many satisfied hookups the morning after to think otherwise--but holy fuck, this is something else.

"Dude, you're--good at this," Sam gasps, reaching back to palm Dean's head, and Dean's body bows around him, pushing deep, flooding him with proof of life. Dean's teeth scrape his neck, tendon tight and ready to snap, and then he slumps, tension gone and nothing left but warm weight and heavy breathing and _Dean_.

In a minute, Dean will slide away and go to the bathroom, coming back with a cloth to clean Sam up. They'll move to the other bed, Dean curling around Sam's body and out like a light in two minutes flat. Sam will stay awake and cup his hand over Dean's neck, covering the marks, and revel in having his brother back.

For now, he just lies there and listens to Dean breathe.

END


End file.
